


The Crow, The Owl and The Dove

by ECA1988



Series: Fire, Meet Gasoline [1]
Category: Houdini & Doyle (TV)
Genre: Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Series, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8227933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ECA1988/pseuds/ECA1988
Summary: Houdini, Stratton and Doyle work together to solve what may be a global conspiracy after the events of the final episode. Each friend wrestles with personal demons, while attempting to help each other battle theirs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first publicized fan fiction, so be easy on me :P The events described in these stories may not be completely canon, and there may be plot errors. I have no way to re-watch the episodes yet :( If you enjoy this work, please leave a kudos and a comment!

“Get that thing out of here!” Doyle yelped, not unlike a small female child. The fundamentally put-together, respectable man was temporarily misplacing his propriety.

Houdini scoffed, and Stratton stifled a giggle. The small snake wound itself around the magician’s arm, placidly sampling the air. “What’s the issue, Doc? Frightened of snakes?” Houdini crept closer, and Doyle’s eyes widened more in panic. “They truly are gentle creatures; just…don’t piss them off,” with his last words, Houdini raised the milk snake to eye level for Doyle. It certainly had done no more than coil around his arms silently, and the author was terrified. 

“HOUDINI!”

“Oh Harry, give it a rest. Put that thing back or so help me…” Adelaide rolled her eyes; she was in the company of a great illusionist and an astounding author, who both were currently acting like school-age children. She felt her blood pressure rising.

Houdini conceded to Stratton’s request, and as quick as a blink, the white snake vanished. “Christ, Arthur, I would never have imagined you to be panicked so easily.” Houdini fell into his chair and sipped his brandy, it was unlike him to drink, but recent events had frayed his nerves. Scaring Doyle and irritating Stratton seemed like sure-fire treatment as well.

Doyle scowled at Houdini and slumped into his chair. “Why do you insist on relentlessly trying to force me to an early grave? What if it that animal had gotten loose…bitten one of the children…” Doyle trembled involuntarily. Houdini sighed dramatically and tossed back the rest of his drink. “Oh, as if I’d allow that to happen! What am I, some kind of amateur? Mary and Kingsley would have adored my trick! It’s just textbook magic.”

Houdini was gifted with another piercing glare from the author. Abruptly Stratton made for the study door. “Gentlemen, I must take my leave. I assume I’ll see you both in the morning?” Doyle rose to see her to the front door, but the illusionist was in front of her, swift as lightning. “Oh? So soon?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

Adelaide sidestepped Houdini gracefully; a smile forming that didn’t reach her dark eyes. “It’s well past ten! And a lady should never wander the streets of London alone after dark. It’s improper!” The sarcasm dripped heavily in her tone, warning him to drop the subject. Doyle’s mouth twitched as he eyed Houdini’s face. The door shut and a troubled countenance met his.

“I should accompany her home,” Houdini glowered. 

“She’s a well-trained police officer, who can more than handle herself.” Doyle gave Houdini a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. In all conscience, Arthur was to some extent uncomfortable with the notion of Adelaide making her way home unaccompanied in the dark, officer or not. She had made perfectly clear on several occasions that she was no damsel and had held her own quite often; but it still made him very nervous.

“What’s going on with her?” Houdini spun and swept back into the study. Doyle yawned pointedly; the suggestion however was lost on the other man. Houdini continued without pause.  
“She was just up and gone, two minutes prior I had her laughing and then she switched off.”

“Perhaps she recalled something important, or the two of us were trying her patience?” Doyle knew it was most likely the latter. The poor woman had had to suffer them more often lately, neither Doyle nor Houdini were quite ready to face the grief that was dogging them. He did find it peculiar however that Adelaide appeared quite bereft of any heartache of her own concerning her late husband, whom she had recently taken the life of. The doctor’s recollection of that particular evening was rather fuzzy; he had drifted in and out of consciousness in response to his injury.

Houdini shook his curled head, his hand stroking his chin in contemplation. He paced the length of the warmly decorated study for at least an hour murmuring to himself, and Doyle watched him, bemused. When it was nearing twelve o'clock, Arthur decided he would need to be more direct with Harry if he was to get any sleep. 

“You are in need of rest.” The statement was simple, offered as a colleague and a doctor, but Doyle may as well have struck his friend. Furious ice blue eyes met his, and the doctor retreated.  
“Are you not the least bit concerned? Her husband is dead,” Doyle’s stomach sank. Harry continued, “She’s not mourning!”

“That you are aware of, imaginably that’s why she left? I reckon she did most of her grieving when Benjamin feigned his death the first time. We are not so familiar with her that she would feel comfortable coming to us. You prodding her continuously will not benefit the situation. She will approach either you or me, or both, if she wishes to. We cannot impose, everyone mourns differently.” The last few words hung in the air; a near unbearable weight was born by both men, although spoken of by neither. Houdini averted his eyes and Doyle shifted anxiously.

Detecting Harry’s discomfort, mirroring his own, Doyle tried a new tack. “In the morning, perhaps we can broach the subject - _cautiously_ \- with her and go from there.”

A stroke of midnight from the magnificent grandfather clock was his only response. More silence followed but Arthur dare not say anything. He had a nagging suspicion the magician’s thoughts were no longer with Adelaide’s grief, but with his own, for his mother. Fairly, Doyle could not remember his friend completely opening up about his despair to him, despite being abnormally forward with his own sentiments regarding Touie’s death.

The two men parted that evening with a profound tension suspended between them. Harry’s eyes were blank, the intensity that usually radiated from them snuffed out. As Arthur shut the door, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of stomach. Blowing out the candles in the foyer and lowering the gas lamps, he made his way upstairs to kiss goodnight the two people left in this world that may not abhor him presently.

******

Harry Houdini wound his way toward the Metropole hotel, the crisp autumn wind whipping around him. Back to the room where he had not so long ago found his mother’s lifeless body, back to the room he so craved to set alight. Chilled air received him as he swung the gilded door to the royal suite open. An oppressive darkness threatened to overwhelm him and he stumbled as he switched the lamps on. Warm light flooded the room and the sudden terror subsided. Already he felt gnawing regret remembering the way he left Arthur standing in the cool fall air as he marched out. He wasn’t fully sure why he was so irate. Other emotions tried to fight their way forward, but he brushed them aside. Fury was the sensation to feel right now. 

Passing the settee he could feel her kind eyes upon him. 

“Not now, Ma,” He shut his eyes taut and grasped the totem in his trouser pocket with the words, _If You Can Read This, You Are Not Dreaming_ scrawled on a small piece of stationary.

“You’re gone, why can’t you just rest?”

“Ah, Ehrie, it is you who will not let me rest.” 

Harry lashed out in rage, thrashing at no one in particular. Sobs racked his body, and every one of those emotions he had been pushing back engulfed him. Through tear filled eyes he stared at her. She smiled so lovingly at him, inviting him to sit and let her care for him as she had all these years past.

“No.”

Harry had attempted this before to no avail, the power of suggestion, used upon himself. Cool logic, stern reasoning; she’s not there. She’s dead.

_She’s dead!_

He raised himself up slowly, barely willing to look where she had been moments before.

The seat was empty. 

A shuddering sigh of relief, followed instantly by a wave of disgust; so suddenly, he’s glad she’s gone?

He began to break. Not on the whole interested if anyone else could hear him, he methodically demolished the suite. The gilded walls, the obscene decorations, the obnoxious furnishings, even his over-priced suits, all of them. Harry Houdini was a fictionalized character and he was tired of pretending. Ehrich Weisz could only dream of living in such resplendence -indeed he had as a child- in awe of everything Harry Houdini was; surrounded by adoring fans, yet utterly alone. 

A pocket watch thrown clear into the washroom read 2:30 behind fractured glass. A shell of a man lay on the floor, enveloped in sweat from fever dreams. A few cuts wept trickles of blood, but were paid no mind by the unconscious form. In the middle of the sitting room, the smoldering remains of a sofa sparked a contrast. A crumpled piece of stationary settled on the burnt sofa. It had been singed, but was still legible. The wind that had disturbed it could not be explained, as all of the windows were closed. 

A shiver ran through the body of the broken man.

*****

Adelaide was not disturbed by walking alone at night. However, for reasons unbeknownst to her, she had a hand wrapped tightly around her baton this particular evening. She was relieved Houdini had not pressed the issue when she had departed a few moments earlier. Sitting up till the early hours of the morning was nothing queer to the three of them, certainly as of late. Arthur and Harry both were still in mourning and she had noticed the questioning glances between when they thought she wouldn’t.

Why was she so unaffected by Benjamin’s death? Oh, _second_ death. A surly grimace played on her lips and a swell of guilt and rage disquieted her momentarily. Trust was not a gift she offered lightly. Benjamin had earned it, lost it, and earned it back unjustly, only to lose it once more in Buffalo when he shot Arthur and then aimed his pistol at the President.

The guilt she felt wasn’t unwarranted, but it wasn’t owing to the loss of one whom she had loved so dearly. The faces of two men who had burst uninvited into her life fashioned themselves in her mind. This time, a genuine smile formed as she turned the key to her flat. The air inside was chilly and Adelaide turned to start a fire. She halted abruptly when the hairs on her neck prickled. She wasn’t alone. A figure took shape in the semi darkness reaching towards her. Swift reflexes allowed her to grip the wrist of the intruder. Without a thought, she hastily brought the figure’s arm up behind their back. A sharp intake of air accompanied by a gasp of pain broke the silence. Keeping her grip on what she determined to be a male, she reached for a lamp. One click and the intruder was illuminated. Her baton went to the throat of the man cutting off some access to air. He stumbled backwards, but Adelaide kept her footing. 

“To your knees!” She commanded, keeping the slight fear tinting her speech at a minimum.

The man complied and she relaxed her baton just enough. “Who are you, and how did you gain entrance?” Adelaide forced austerity into her voice, despite the awkward angle she had positioned herself. It was hard to breathe, but she wouldn’t allow him to know that.

“I ain’t telling you who I am, but as ta how I got in here, there’s a key in me pocket.” The stranger’s voice was monotone, but she sensed his apprehension.

Tightening her grasp on his arm, and releasing the baton, she reached into his trouser pocket and seized the key. Pulling it free she immediately spun his arm back forward bringing him again to his feet, and facing her. Brandishing the baton threateningly she kept him stock still.

He was plain-faced, never to be noticed in a crowd, a perfect criminal.

“Do you know who I am?” Her face was blank, allowing him no ammunition.

“Constable Adelaide Stratton.” 

She waited momentarily. “And what does that mean to you?” 

“It means I was ta get paid if I took something from ya, no more than that. I dinna know who you was beforehand. They told me ta take it and get out. Gave me the key and said don’ get caught. I think I botched it.”

“Take what?”

“A book. Some kinda public record thing. I ain’t too sure, they gave a description and that’s all.”

“They did not provide with you the name?”

“Ah,” the plain-faced man blushed. “Well see, I kenny read.”

If the situation hadn’t been what it was, Adelaide would have laughed. “ _They_ sent a man who can not read, to steal a book from a police officer.” She shook her head in disbelief. “So who are “they”?”

“Mysterious folks, ain’t from Britain, had a funny accent. I was sittin’ in the pub, mindin’ me own business an’ they grab me and drag me inta an alley. Told me what I jes’ told ya, gave me the key, and said git goin’. Look, hones’ly, I ain’t mean no harm. I would prefer if ya did give me the book though; they was pretty threatenin’. Said they’d kill me if I dinna bring it back.”

Adelaide processed this momentarily. “Under no circumstance am I providing you with whatever book it is you seek. However, in exchange for some assistance, I may be able to get you a plea deal.”

The man considered this. After a few minutes he accepted her offer.

The backup she requested from Scotland Yard arrived far too slowly for her liking. The man was now handcuffed and seated on her couch; head hung low, pale eyes studying the carpet fibers. The fire she had finally started warmed the room considerably but Adelaide felt frozen. She had apprehended plenty of criminals before, but never in her home.

Of course that’s not counting the time she arrived home to find Houdini and Doyle shuffling through her private belongings. She permitted herself a smile at this thought.  
Finally a knock was heard. Adelaide started involuntarily and answered the door.

“Constable Stratton.” 

She inclined her head to the two men standing in her doorway. “Officer Williams. Officer Westley.” She allowed two officers entrance past her. “He’s in the sitting room.”  
She followed the two into the room where Westley had control of the man. 

“Please book him, but I will take over his case in the morning. Allow him some sustenance.”

Westley inclined his head in response. “Are you positive you wouldn’t prefer us to take a look around before we take our leave?”

“Thank you, no. I believe he was here alone. I appreciate your assistance.”

The officers acknowledged her as they left, toting the man between them. Adelaide watched as the carriage ambled away. Rain had begun pounding against the window pane and she shivered hard. Sleep would never come to her after this chaos. Instead she searched for what she believed the man was sent for. She let out a discouraged sigh when she found it. The journal was newly bound, a listing of all the accomplices her husband had consorted with. Apparently someone was trying to cover their tracks. A distant memory of a wedding notice in a newspaper clipping warning her to desist floated to the forefront of her mind. 

She hadn’t stopped then, and she certainly wasn’t about to now.

The next morning dawned, wet and windy, and found three disconcerted individuals. Adelaide had eventually fallen asleep, albeit not in the most comforting place. Arthur awoke; the tension in his stomach from the previous night had yet to subside as he readied his children for school. Harry stirred miserably from the wreckage of his breakdown, fresh tears falling as he observed the damage.

The station had never been completely welcoming, but as Adelaide entered that morning, she found herself the subject of overbearing praise, even from Gudgett and Merring. Eventually she was granted reprieve and was able to interrogate her prisoner more fully. The plain-faced man looked up as she stood outside his cell, eyes puffy and skin mottled. She was spitefully pleased that he was not able to get much more sleep than she.

“We will begin your case soon, however I would like to inform you that I did find the book you were sent to lift.” She raised the book and studied the prisoner’s reaction. No recognition. She nodded and replaced the book. “Are you willing to give all the information you possess in return for a plea deal?”

The man bobbed his head in agreement. He wasn’t quite as talkative this morning.

As she turned to leave he finally piped up, “I ain’t got too much information. But I ken give ya names of people who might.”

When Adelaide returned to her desk to prepare the plea deal, she found an abnormally unkempt Doyle. Their eyes met and she could sense his despondency.  
“I would understand if you weren’t up to assisting me today,” She started gently.

Arthur slid into a chair and yawned hugely. “I am well enough. What is it you are working on?”

Adelaide didn’t answer straightaway, she was calculating the best way to tell him what had transpired last night.

“I came home to an intruder in my flat.” It took a moment for Arthur to register this, but when he did he let out a yelp much like a wounded dog, shooting out of his chair as though some naughty child had left a firework on it. He loomed over her, no trace of fatigue in his hazel eyes any longer.

“What?! Where is he? Are you injured?” He hurried around the desk and immediately commenced inspecting her. She rolled her eyes, amused, but surreptitiously grateful. 

“Doctor Doyle, I am perfectly healthy. I handled the situation. He came to steal personal information from me and I have since interrogated him. He is trading evidence for a plea deal. It would seem Benjamin will not leave me be, even in death.”

Doyle released her, and his eyes scrutinized hers. She looked away, guilt flaring once again inside her. She shouldn’t involve him and Houdini in any of her affairs anymore. With that thought, the absence of the brash magician suddenly worried her.

“Have you seen Houdini?” She asked abruptly.

Arthur shuffled restlessly. “He and I may have had a row last night after you departed.”

She put her hands on her hips. “About what, exactly?”

The author looked much like a child who had been caught misbehaving. It was a touch entertaining; he never quailed like this before her. A flush of pride momentarily supplanted the guilt, but not for very long.

“You,” He stated simply, as though this was enough to go on. Adelaide audibly exhaled, annoyed, and crossed her arms. Finally he broke. “About Benjamin.”

The shame returned full force, nearly choking her. After today she was putting a stop to this. No longer was she allowing civilians to be in the line of fire that often followed her.

“Harry was disturbed to see you weren’t grieving,” Arthur perceived her discomfort and needed to break the silence. “I was as well, but after…after Touie…I realized that no one mourns alike. I knew you would come to us when you were prepared.”

“I am not grieving for Benjamin. He made his choice after his first death about what he stood for. He nearly shot the President and he nearly killed you.” She broke eye contact, not really caring to see Arthur’s reaction. “That’s why that man broke into my flat. He was sent for the list of Benjamin’s conspirators that I have compiled.”

Arthur’s eyes widened at this news. “What could he accomplish with that?”

“Not him, the people who sent him; apparently a group of foreigners. I’m intent on discovering as much as I can about them; they may be arranging another stunt similar to what happened in Buffalo. I imagine they are either endeavoring to finish what he started or execute the remaining people on that list to keep it silent.”

As the day drew on Arthur became increasingly troubled concerning Houdini’s absence. It was unlike him to not show up and aggravate everyone at the station if he was free that day. Adelaide was busy working on her case, and he didn’t want to disturb her with his trepidations. Near lunch he made the excuse to find something to eat. Luckily she was busy enough not to ask to come along.  
He hailed a cab to the Metropole Hotel and upon arriving he instantaneously felt something was amiss. He rushed to the top floor and knocked on the door of Harry’s suite. There was no answer, nor any sound for that matter. His heart pounding, Doyle tried the knob. The door swung open and he was met with a sight that made his heart stop. The entire room had been completely wrecked. The settee had been set ablaze and Harry’s suits were strewn about and ripped to pieces. Arthur combed the entire apartment, but there was no sign of Houdini, save for the small scrap of paper he knew Harry kept to provide stability when he was hallucinating. He searched once more, in hopes of a note, or anything really, to provide some clue as to where Harry was.

*****

It wasn’t even necessary for Doyle to look up at Adelaide when she arrived. Her shock radiated through the room. 

“Nothing,” He strode up and down the room, echoing Houdini’s fervent ruminations the night past. “Absolutely nothing.”

“I…” Adelaide couldn’t finish her thought. Her brain had simply fizzled when she saw the aftermath. “Oh my god. _Harry_. What the hell could have possibly happened here?”

“Someone took him,” It wasn’t so much a statement as a pleading for an answer. Whenever he looked around the room, he couldn’t help but assume the worst.

Adelaide met Arthur in the middle of the room by the burned settee. “There’s no blood.”

He wordlessly shook his head and beckoned her to the washroom. 

Along the ornate tiles she noticed blood spattered here and there, but nothing suggesting a skirmish. She found Harry’s cracked pocket watch alongside the garden bath. Gingerly she picked it up with her kerchief and placed it in a small leather bag. She gazed up to Arthur and could see his eyes were watering. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I need to inform Scotland Yard.”

Arthur nodded but didn’t say anything. He continued to search the room, as though he expected Harry to pop out with a self-indulgent grin and exclaim that it was all a trick. Adelaide desired something similar, although she would have boxed him upside his head if he tried such a stunt.

A few officers from Scotland Yard arrived, and at the behest of Doyle, Adelaide told them to make it seem a normal patrol.

“I don’t think someone took him Arthur,” she whispered as she sat down next to him in the hotel lobby. There was more than enough noise that no one took notice of their hushed conversation. She began rattling off Scotland Yard’s findings to herself. “Minor blood splatters. No other presence was detected in the room. No evidence of forced entry. Windows were sealed tight. No foreign DNA or articles were found.”

It looked as though someone had released all of the air from Arthur’s body. Dejectedly he regarded Adelaide. “Tell me something. There has to be something. Some small piece overlooked, or something just slightly off.”

She shook her head desolately. “He made no mention of heading elsewhere before he left you last night? Perhaps he never made it to the hotel and someone vandalized the suite looking for him, or an item of his.” This was stretch since she was certain Harry had been in his room last night, if only for a little while, and there was no evidence of another person; but she inquired anyways, for her benefit as well as his.

“That piece of stationary he holds on to, the one he looks at if he thinks he’s dreaming…it was on the sofa. He always carries that with him; he’s been seeing his mother more lately.” He looked back at her miserably, but then a thought struck him. “He has a show tonight.” His eyes snapped open, remembering.

Adelaide stood quickly. “Where? The Palladium?” Doyle nodded and they hurried from the hotel.

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the entrance to the Palladium, where the day of a performance of Houdini’s, the box office would be thronging. Today, however, there were very few people, most of which were obviously employees.

Doyle caught up to the closest one, a young man of barely twenty, and immediately started questioning him.

“I beg your pardon, but where is everyone? There is a performance from Houdini this evening.” 

The man instantly realized who was addressing him, and was struck dumb briefly. Arthur glanced pleadingly at Adelaide and she swept up to the star struck young man.

“Sir, please. Have you seen Mr. Houdini?” She probed, incensed.

“I…uh…Mr. Houdini? No, miss, tending to him is above my pay grade,” His eyes refused to leave Arthur’s face. “Anyhow, his show is canceled tonight; lots of angry customers.”

“Canceled? Was there a reason given? If you would so kindly look at me, sir,” Adelaide sighed.

This shocked him from his reverie finally. “Begging all the pardons, miss; I meant no offense. But that’s Mr. Conan Doyle! Forgive me, a reason? No ma’am, not one I’ve been notified of. Boss man came up in a rage and told us to refund tickets. I ain’t never been yelled at so much in one shift.” He draped his head, looking forlorn. “This is my last shift at this theatre and I was looking forward to see Mr. Houdini one final time before I left the city.”

Arthur gazed at Adelaide, distressed. “Thank you for your time, sir.” The younger man beamed at the doctor. 

“Yessir! And ma’am,” he blushed. “I apologize that I could not be of more assistance.”

The young man’s supervisor started roaring furiously for him. He flushed and excused himself, leaving the two of them to dwell on their thoughts. 

“How is it that’s there is all the evidence of foul play, and yet there’s also none?! Harry would never just cancel a show, it’s completely unlike him.” Arthur wrung his hands, visibly upset.

Adelaide stepped in front of him; he wasn’t going to like this. “Arthur, there’s not much more I’m sure I can do here. I have to return to the precinct. Scotland Yard has begun the investigation, and due to the circumstances I’m not allowed to have a hand in the case.” She could feel the heat of his furious glare.

“I’m sorry? Harry is missing and you are just going to give him up? When has personal interest ever barred you from moving forward with a case?” He stood to his full height, towering over her, confusion, hurt, and wrath in his eyes. “It was personal interest that led us to Canada, however much you’d like to deny that; which then directed us to Buffalo, where, I’m sure you can remember, I was caught in the line of fire. Adelaide, you can be damn sure, if you went missing, Harry and I would be doing our best to bring you home safe.”

Tears started filling her eyes. “Arthur, I…”

He shook his head, suddenly detached. “Never mind Miss Stratton,” the use of her surname startled her. “I will find Harry myself. Return to Scotland Yard.”

With that he spun on the spot and was gone.

Fury encompassed her when she returned to her desk at the office. She could have killed him, in fact she just might. He stood joking with Merring as though nothing was amiss. She marched up to him, grabbed his arm painfully and steered him back to her desk. Merring and Gudgett sniggered as she left with him.

When they were alone at her desk he turned towards her, his crystalline azure eyes unfocused. “Oh my, Miss Stratton!” A stupid grin was born upon his face. He was very clearly sloshed.

She whirled furiously near to him. “How dare you!” She hissed angrily. “Have you the faintest idea how worried Arthur and I were for you?”

Not quite meeting her eyes, he swayed unsteadily. “Oh, Addie. I merely had a night out is all! Some fun with a couple pretty girls; and maybe a few men…” At this a confused air crossed his face, quickly replaced by a smirk. He put his hands on her desk, just this close to falling over. She sat down huffily, and reordered her papers. A deep anger writhed inside her, both because of Houdini, and also because of what Arthur had said before parting with her. 

*****

Arthur could nearly feel a demon rising out of him as he made his way to the station. It had replaced the guilt that had infested him after he abandoned Adelaide in front of the Palladium.

The note from her arrived as he sat to enjoy dinner with his children. 

_He’s here._

Two words on a message sent from Scotland Yard. A rage unlike anything he had felt recently consumed him as he entered the office and spied Houdini passed out on her desk. Adelaide’s eyes met his, and an apology was wordlessly conveyed between both.

“He’s been out for almost an hour. I wanted to berate him a bit before I informed you, so you could have the stage when you got here. Unfortunately, you arrived a bit too late.” A dry humor in her voice signaled her relief. “I have yet to make progress with more of my case.” She tossed the file down on her desk. “I did procure a few names from Mr. Port, nevertheless.”

A raised eyebrow on the doctor’s face prompted her again. “Sorry, Mr. Port is name of the man who broke into my flat. The names aren’t much to go on yet, but it’s something. As for him,” She gestured toward the drunken bundle. “I haven’t wheedled out of him anything helpful as to his previous whereabouts, and what he _has_ told me is obviously a lie. He won’t speak of his room, or of the canceled show. Although in this state, it would have culminated in his death if he had performed.”

Arthur took Houdini’s pulse and temperature; his pulse was quickened and he was running hot. It may solely have been symptoms of his bash, but Arthur had a notion it was something else.

Adelaide sighed and stood. “I give up. I can’t even think right now. How is he?”

“He needs rest. Considering the state of his suite, he should most likely stay in my guest room, where I can keep an eye on him.” Adelaide nodded in agreement. Enlisting the help of some discreet officers, they fared decently in moving Houdini to Doyle’s home, and throughout the journey he only stirred occasionally.

Eventually after much cajoling, Harry, barely conscious, was guided to bed where he flopped down and was once again sound asleep.

“He’s going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes.” Doyle failed to conceal a grin.

“He deserves it.” 

Arthur laughed. “He damn well does.” Adjusting the sheets, he tucked Harry in; much in the same fashion as he would his children. Harry was sometimes cork-headed and indecorous, but he was also being haunted. Arthur had arrived at the conclusion that the magician had destroyed his own room, provoked by the sight of his phantom mother.

He still had the totem and drew it out now, tucking it into Houdini’s shirt pocket. “Just in case,” he whispered before exiting the room with Adelaide.

Back in the study again, a night not dissimilar to last, apart from the absence of one undoubted pain in the ass friend, Adelaide and Arthur struggled to piece the tiny bit of evidence they had together.

“We can’t rule out that she may be in fact haunting him. For a man who disbelieves so heartily in the supernatural, it does seem to constantly surround him.” Arthur toyed with his typewriter, a page with the words _Holmes and Watson_ was all the further his tale had evolved.

Adelaide didn’t respond immediately, turning over every piece in her head. It began to pound.

“Ergot poisoning.”

Arthur shut his eyes, instantly unnerved. “I had originally thought of that. But this has gone on far too long. The effects were rather temporary for me. This is typical grief, although he does seem eerily fixated on the denial portion, and now anger as well.”

Thankfully she abandoned the opinion of ergot poisoning. Arthur still wasn’t one hundred percent comfortable with what had happened when he was dosed, and still felt a good deal of unrest when it was brought up in conversation. 

Periodically either Adelaide or Arthur would check on Harry, but he was still dead to the world. Adelaide joked about waking him up anyways for revenge, but Arthur pointed out that he would then be awake to infuriate them. After Arthur saw his children to bed, he charged Vera with keeping an eye on Houdini. 

“Last night I was not at ease permitting you to walk home alone, and it would seem for good reason.” Arthur offered Adelaide his arm, and together they entered the chilly night air.

Doyle could sense uncertainty in Adelaide’s bearing as they made their way. “I know you are more than adept at handling most situations that arise. Please do not feel as though I am belittling you. In any case, this is more for my peace of mind.” 

“I know that, Arthur. I do appreciate your concern. Perhaps I can finally begin work on my case tomorrow now that Mr. Houdini has graced us with his presence again.” Adelaide’s face turned dark. “Do you believe he will be capable of eventually managing his grief? Should we locate him a… _therapist?_ ”

Arthur chuckled almost automatically. “Aside from the supernatural, therapy is another of his skepticisms. I couldn’t imagine trying to force Harry to a psychiatrist without some form of restraint, from which he would invariably escape.”

The very image of Houdini making a great escape while in transit to a therapy session apparently invaded both of their minds, since when Arthur left Adelaide securely at home, they were both considerably happier. Their friend was home safe, for now. 

Another gusty autumn morning greeted Harry Houdini as he stirred. A profound thumping was present in his head, and a yearning for his opium pipe to dull the ache in his bones surfaced. Groggily he searched his new surroundings and determined that he was currently under the care of one Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle. Rising from the bed proved difficult as his body was having thoroughly no desire to cooperate with him. “Ugh, shift it Houdini,” Harry forcefully ran his hands through his curls and pulled. Finally he rattled himself, and rose. A potent dizziness threatened to overpower him, but years of mental exercise proved fruitful. Making his way to the window he threw aside the dressings and squinted at the brightness. The pain in his head surged, and nausea swooped over him. But he stood and forced himself to look outside. He regulated his breathing, the nausea ebbing away slowly. He sensed a presence behind him and a new dread percolated inside. 

“I’m glad to see you awake.”

An almost joyful sigh escaped Houdini. None other his very good friend stood in the doorway. A familiar feminine voice in the back of his head hounded him; he paid it no mind.

Turning, he was welcomed by a man with unusually disheveled dark hair patterned here and there with grey, and a ridiculous mustache, doing its very best to hide a relieved smile. It was a sight he would remember being very grateful for. 

Forcing his old swagger, Harry acted as though he hadn’t seen Arthur in ages, and that his friend hadn’t seen the devastation caused by a madman. 

“Artie!”

Arthur grumbled. “Artie?"

Harry beamed, the pain thumped harder. “I like it! Simple and to the point. Cheers for letting me stay the night. I’ll get out of your un coiffed hair.” Gathering his suit jacket he made for the door, but a powerful hand placed itself on his chest, forcing him to stop. Anxiety bubbled within him.

“You should stay for breakfast.” It was not a request. The hand remained unmoved.

Harry’s grin faltered only slightly. “Oh, no thank you. I actually have a previous engagement, but I’ll be certain to stop by and see the kids later.”

Still Doyle kept his hand on Houdini’s chest. Flight mode was activated somewhere deep down and Harry’s breathing became staggered.

“You will stay for breakfast,” Arthur growled. Harry was distraught to see the warm smile had vanished from his friend’s face. 

Sheepishly, Harry acquiesced; his face displaying his true feelings now. He was an idiot to think Arthur couldn’t see right through him. The bravado and hauteur only protected him for so long.

The Doyle’s dining table had entertained less esteemed guests, but none so despondent. Kingsley and Mary were forbidden to pester Mr. Houdini, which led to pouting from both. Arthur kept shooting Houdini furtive glances every time he tried to engage the children. He knew it hurt Harry to disallow him sharing his incredible talents with what may be his biggest fans. It was part punishment and part Arthur’s ire. The relief he’d known seeing the illusionist about and hale had lasted for mere moments until Harry had shown no remorse and attempted to leave. The fury Arthur had buried from yesterday was restored, and then some.

While Vera endeavored to ready the children for their day, Arthur found Harry in his study, sitting in his chair, and reading his manuscript. His indignation abated slightly, seeing Harry so absorbed. Leaning in the door frame he studied his friend, when he noticed Harry’s hand shoot to the pocket containing his totem. Sorrow filled the void left by the anger subsiding.

“Harry.”

It took a moment before Houdini realized he wasn’t dreaming. He looked up at Arthur, and he felt his eyes burning. Blinking quickly he rose from the chair. 

“I'm sorry.” He rarely apologized, if ever, and he’d never meant it more than he did now. “It was too much; she was there, dammit Arthur she’s always there!”

He wasn't aware that Arthur had crossed the room, but suddenly he was swept up in a consoling hug. Customarily, he would have withdrawn and played it off.

Not this time.

“I will do what I can to support you, Harry; whatever it takes.”

*****

“Constable Stratton.”

Merring sat behind his desk typing a report, not looking up as Adelaide entered his office. “A plea deal has been reached.” He said without preamble.

Adelaide stood stunned. “I was not consulted. He is my detainee.”

“And he attempted burglary on your home. It’s a conflict of interests. You have intruded upon too many cases to which you were connected. The prisoner’s case has been transferred to me and I will be carrying out the necessary investigations. The book you believed to be the object of concern was incorrect, you do not possess the one he was sent for. As for Mr. Houdini, the Metropole Hotel will not be pressing charges; however he is no longer welcome there. He will have to arrange new living quarters.” Merring at last met her eyes, catching her rage. “Be as angry as you’d like, Constable Stratton. You are perilously close to being required to turn over your badge. Another step out of line will see your end at Scotland Yard.” A ghost of a smile was there, but Adelaide found it malicious. She thought it odd that she had been showered with accolades just yesterday, only to be scolded now. Without being dismissed she left the office.

With no new cases, Adelaide went to break the news to Harry and Arthur. She hailed a cab; the grey melancholy of the sky a twin to her mood.

Arthur and Harry were in the study when Adelaide arrived. As she entered, a swift examination of both of her friends revealed that she had missed something. Harry was fiddling with an astrolabe while Arthur sat behind his typewriter, hands together in front of his careworn face. She was pleased to see Harry up and about, no longer deathly white.

Arthur looked up as she crossed the threshold, smiling wearily. Adelaide noted that Harry was deliberately refusing to meet her eyes. 

She made her way to the desk and sat down. “Good morning Arthur. I’m sorry to arrive uninvited. We have an issue,” Regardless of looking at Arthur, her voice carried adequately so that Harry could hear.

“Oh, yes. You’re speaking of me I trust?” Harry finally met her eyes. In them she saw suffering she had ignorantly overlooked before. “Don’t fret, Arthur has already scolded me; unless you’d like to as well.” It troubled her oddly that she anticipated him to wink or grin flirtatiously as he said that. Instead she only heard torment.

Arthur sighed, clearly irritated. “Don’t be so melodramatic. I stated before that we were going to aid you.”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead he replaced the astrolabe and sidled over to them, continuing to be dramatic. 

“What’s the trouble then, Constable?” Harry inquired mockingly.

“The Metropole Hotel is not pressing charges for the destruction of the room; however you are no longer permitted to board there.”

Her statement was met with a staggered silence from Arthur.

“Not surprised,” said Harry. “Actually, I _am_ surprised that they aren’t pressing charges. I really went to town on that place.” His tone was embarrassed. “Am I at best _permitted_ to collect my belongings?”

“Oh that reminds me,” Adelaide, ignoring his sarcasm, reached into her bag and withdrew the pocket watch. She handed it to Harry who gazed at it, his eyes unfocused, and hands shaking. “My father gave me this, before I became a disappointment.”

The other two waited anxiously. But Harry smiled sadly at Adelaide. “Thanks. I don’t recall chucking it.” He continued examining it, no longer present.

Silently satisfied, Adelaide looked back to Arthur. “Merring took me off the Port case; stating it was a conflict of interests.” The last words weighed deeply between them. “How ironic.”

Arthur cocked his head; his eyes shot to Harry and back quickly. “And the _true_ reason?”

Adelaide laughed, which brought Harry out of his trance. “I imagine he wrote that there was distinct evidence regarding the cases’ connection to me and mine. The _true_ reason is that he still is attempting to drive me out of Scotland Yard. He made it clear I was close.” 

“That’s bullshit.” Harry snorted. “The real reason is he’s livid because a woman does a far superior job than he ever could manage. You could undoubtedly become the chief if everyone would pull their head from their behinds more often to bear in mind that it is the twentieth century.”

Adelaide regarded Harry with a mixture of amusement and awe.

“Well that all is very true,” Arthur chimed in. Harry shrugged and made for the window. Arthur continued, “Despite all of this, I assume you are not about to sit idly by while a case connected with Benjamin is investigated by another?”

“Absolutely not.” Adelaide fidgeted. “However I will do it alone.”

She may as well have announced her marriage to a barn animal for all the uproar it caused. In an instant both Arthur and Harry were bellowing at her, stating all the reasons she most certainly would not. They didn’t notice her giggling for a good couple of minutes. Arthur was the first to realize, and rolled his eyes. “Oh, very clever.” 

Harry was still outraged until he saw the look between the other two. “It’s generally me who’s supposed to pull these types of stunts you know.” The first real smile they had seen in weeks appeared. 

“I can only imagine where this case might take us. This may be an international case, for all I know.”

“Well it can’t be worse than Buffalo, eh?” Harry tossed the pocket watch in the air and it never came back down. He pulled it from Arthur’s waistcoat. “I suppose I should repair the glass on this.”

Adelaide and Arthur had never been happier to see Harry perform an illusion in their lives. The fire that Arthur saw flicker out behind Harry’s baby blues flared brighter than ever.

Before leaving the study, Harry pulled the totem from his suit jacket. He threw it onto the fire crackling in the fireplace. 

“Rest well, Ma.”

A man who was mutually Harry Houdini and Ehrich Weisz left the study of his best friend. Before the paper could fully ignite, an inexplicable wind pulled it from its certain doom.

The little bit left of the paper fell to the floor, only three words still decipherable:

 

_You Are Dreaming_


End file.
